


A Singular Noun

by JamOnToast



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Childhood Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamOnToast/pseuds/JamOnToast
Summary: Spencer's time in a Las Vegas public high school wasn't great. All he really wanted was one true friend.
Kudos: 1





	A Singular Noun

**Author's Note:**

> also posted on my tumblr (pumpkin-stars).

He doesn’t have friends. Plural, singular, however you want to say it - there’s not one friendship in his life. Sure Mrs Greenburg lets him eat lunch in her classroom most days, and Mr Jakeman never fails to hold a conversation over Thursday recess between his chemistry and algebra classes. But he’s not delusional enough to consider them friends. They’re two teachers who happen to like him, appreciate that he’s different and let him stay indoors instead of forcing him to ‘play’ with the older kids in his grade. Mr Lee doesn’t like him. But gym teachers rarely do.

“You’re outside, Reid, you should be playin’ not sittin’ over here with a book!”

He forgoes the book when Mr Lee is on playground duty, just sits with his back to the tree, an almost 180 degree expanse to look out at, monitor where those bullies are, where Harper and Alexa and their boyfriends are, laughing and joking about who knew what…

He’s alone here, like he has been everywhere.

Unlike normal, the six-foot-something 150lb 18 year old quarterback isn’t paying attention to him. The just-over-five-foot barely-100lb 12 year old. He won’t let his guard down yet. Not until that bell rings and he can escape to advanced calculus. Half the class are nerds, the other half are popular… And yet, he still sticks out as the easy target - he’s just a kid, but he’s, apparently, everything they aren’t. And difference should be crushed, not appreciated.

He takes his assigned seat quickly - the room of two-person desks feeling even more isolating than usual with the empty seat to his right. Henry dropped the class last week, gave up with the extra complicated equations and returned to  _ normal _ calculus.

He keeps his head down, pulling his book from his worn-out bag, fighting back tears at the busted ink cartridge in the bottom which - somehow, thankfully - hasn’t touched his books but has - tragically - ruined the badly-wrapped sandwich he’d scraped together that morning with the last single slice of stale bread and a final pitiful squirt of squeezy cheese.

Richard - or  _ Dick _ as he’d never in a million years admit to calling him in his head - kicks the back of his chair hard, sending his ribs careening forward into the wood of the table. He squeaks in pain, earning a round of laughter, but takes the silent prompt to grab the extra set of homework he’d completed the night before in his best possible handwriting, one of the ten questions answered incorrectly so Mrs Peters doesn’t get too suspicious. He hands Dick the paper without a second to spare, their teacher entering just a moment later.

He frowns, there’s someone new with her - he knows this kid is new, not just because of his memory, but because he  _ knows _ he’d never forget eyes that are that kind, or a smile that wide.

“Class, this is Isaac, he’s new today. I hope you’ll be welcoming.”

There’s a grumble of acceptance from the room.

He looks away as Mrs Peters turns her attention to the empty seat and directs  _ Isaac _ to it.

He’s not sure if they meant to put him in ap calc, he can tell within minutes that the new kid is completely lost - one of those guys who doesn’t know why math has letters and gets confused by even the simplest of fractional integrals.

Dick kicks his seat again when Mrs Peters is distracted across the room. He turns his head.

“You better get me an A in this shit kid.”

He nods and turns back, reading through the worksheet quickly, answering just as fast. He feels eyes on him, and looks to find Isaac staring back.

“You’re a genius, right? You understand this stuff?” He whispers.

He nods.

“You do that guy's homework?”

He nods again.

Isaac turns back to his worksheet without another word. A few minutes later he asks, “You think you can help me out with this stuff?”

He looks at him again, wide eyed. He already does homework for six people - on top of his own workload and looking after his mom, Isaac’s homework will eat into the only remaining time he has to himself… He nods anyway, and turns back to his own work.

It’s better to be tolerated than hated, after all.

Isaac doesn’t write anything for a minute, then nudges his leg with his own, “Hey kid,” He looks up. “What’s this bit mean?”

Oh.

He… He actually wants his  _ help _ ?

He explains it simply, making sure Isaac understands each part before moving on to the next. It takes the rest of the lesson to explain one question, and it’s one of the first times he hasn’t finished a worksheet, but that’s okay… ‘Cause when Mrs Peters assigns the class homework - just completing the sheet - Isaac asks if they can spend lunchtime in the library going over it.

He lets himself smile faintly as he nods - a mistake, as it draws Dick’s attention and another swift kick to the back of his chair. Mrs Peters leaves as soon as the bell rings, and Spencer waits patiently with Isaac as six completely blank worksheets are piled onto his desk.

In a week’s time, the number decreases to one. And by the end of the year, the only homework he’ll be doing is his own - aside from those long lunchtimes spent explaining things in the library.

He doesn’t have friends.

Just one.


End file.
